It was the hottest day in July and all along Santa Monica boulevard
Cars were stood still and a gleaming metal tube
Would stretch all the way from Highland back to La Brea
And she met under the Los Angeles sunshine
A young man was sitting at the wheel on his way to make a pickup
Turned off the air-con, rolled down the window and began to sweat
Out over the hollywood hills he saw the clouds building like great dark towers of rain
Ready to come tumbling down any day now not a day too soon any day now
And as the music drifted in from other cars his eyes started to slip
This is the story of his dream (sing blue silver)
Sing, sing blue silver this is the story of his dream
This is the story of his dream